


The Raven and The Wolf

by wolfscrow



Series: TWBingo 2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Full Shift Werewolves, Harlequin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Steter Week 2020, teen wolf bingo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfscrow/pseuds/wolfscrow
Summary: “I’m here to see Casey - uh, the Sheriff?” His voice is raspy with disuse, and he fights the urge to lick at his dry lips and instead tongues at the scar tissue that creeps into his mouth.The woman's happy squint narrows into a suspicious look- taking him in fully, Stiles guesses. He must make one hell of a sight too. He’s gangly as all get out for one, long limbed and skinny. He’s been compared to a skeleton many times. He’s wearing a worn flannel, frayed edges and holey, under which he has an oversized metallica t-shirt with torn sleeves turning it into a tank. Stiles has piercings all along the shell of his ear and a pair of lip rings. It’s all brought together by the peaks of tattoos on his neck and collar bones, with the end of one trailing along his wrist and onto the back of one hand.She’s probably labeled him a delinquent in one smooth once-over.
Relationships: Peter Hale & Talia Hale, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate
Series: TWBingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845706
Comments: 19
Kudos: 133
Collections: Steter Week 2020, Teen Wolf Bingo





	The Raven and The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Harlequin theme; Steter Week 2020. Also for TWBingo2020, Full Shift Werewolves square.
> 
> Tags to be added as chapters are posted, if you need something tagged, tell me please!

Julia Baccari awakens from sleep with her breath stolen, heart a rabid tattoo against her breast. The terror she’d felt lingers in her mind, the pain of the dream numbing her thoughts. The horrible knowledge settles like stones in her gut, and a tear slips down her cheek. 

When the vision’s grip on her has finally loosened, she lays for a moment more. However, the clatter of metal and the awkward yelp Mietek releases hardens her resolve. She will not idly sit and wait for her death. She dresses and joins the boy for breakfast, his grin sheepish and eyes bright. She holds the sight in her mind’s eye, crystalizing the details of his glee. 

As Julia lays dying the next night, hands numb where Mietek clenches them, she brings up the sight of Mietek happy and brilliant. Though it is cowardly of her, she keeps this image as she whispers goodbye to the boy, unwilling to see him, _her boy_ , crying and pleading with her. 

Her final moments are a blessing, a vision of Mietek in the arms of a wolf, smile soft but eyes bright. The moon shines on them, lighting the clearing of their forest in unearthly color, making them ethereal in this instant. As the scene fades, the woods disappearing into void and moonlight fogging with clouds, the forms of Mietek and his werewolf change into the silhouette of a raven flying above a black, blue-eyed, wolf.

=

Dellend, Oregon is shrouded in a light drizzle when Stiles pulls in. His old CJ-5 rolled slowly through the streets. Or street, the small town only has one main road, with the important municipal buildings sitting on either side of it. The City Hall lays at the end of the road, where it splits and seemingly curves around to rejoin behind the building. On the left corner of the split lay the recently remodeled Sheriff’s Station, the Sheriff’s star proudly hung over the entrance. 

Stiles parks his jeep in one of the few visitor spaces available. There aren’t many in general, it seems, and most are already filled with cars despite it only being 10 am. He takes a moment to breathe, the air already misting in the cold without the heat on. He’d thought NorCal winters were cold, but Oregon already has them beat. He wastes more time rubbing his hands together before he huffs harshly and opens the car door.

He walks quickly into the building, not wanting to be caught in the cold for long. Though the exterior is obviously newer than the surrounding ones, it looks like they didn’t bother much with the interior. The woman manning the desk is older, definitely not a deputy if the lack of uniform says anything. She looks kind, motherly in the way she smiles and her grey eyes squint with crows feet. Her sun bleached hair shining silver in the fluorescent light and her wrinkled hands a sharp contrast to the long pink nails adorning each finger.

Stiles nods at her, tongue tied in his mouth and vocal cords tight in his throat. Words have a way of tumbling out of him, unstoppable and almost incomprehensible in his rambling. He takes a deep breath, a moment to settle his nerves and calm his heart.

“I’m here to see Casey - uh, the Sheriff?” His voice is raspy with disuse, and he fights the urge to lick at his dry lips and instead tongues at the scar tissue that creeps into his mouth. 

The woman's happy squint narrows into a suspicious look- taking him in fully, Stiles guesses. He must make one hell of a sight too. He’s gangly as all get out for one, long limbed and skinny. He’s been compared to a skeleton many times. He’s wearing a worn flannel, frayed edges and holey, under which he has an oversized metallica t-shirt with torn sleeves turning it into a tank. Stiles has piercings all along the shell of his ear and a pair of lip rings. It’s all brought together by the peaks of tattoos on his neck and collar bones, with the end of one trailing along his wrist and onto the back of one hand.

She’s probably labeled him a delinquent in one smooth once-over.

“And what’s your business with Sheriff Stilinski, young man?” Her tone is sweet, but sickly in the way that fake kindness always happens to sound to him. Stiles tenses at it, shoulders scrunching over his neck and fingers curling over his arms. He rubs his fingers into his flannel and the softness of the material helps calm him enough to speak again.

“It’s uh, a family emergency - well not emergency like it’s dire but like I need to speak to him because it’s concerning his family and relatives and”--He’s rambling, knows that he’s making things worse but he can’t seem to shut up and he doesn’t even know what he’s _saying_ right now--”I need to speak to him. About that.” He manages to stop talking and breathes in deep through his nose. The woman looks overwhelmed at his babble and blinks wide-eyed at him.

She takes a moment to collect herself, like his own mess is making it hard for her to be put together, before she speaks in a less sweet, more cold tone. “If you give me your name, I can inform him you’re here for a - family emergency. He can decide if he needs to speak to you.” She nods to herself, seemingly deciding that the Sheriff will rightfully turn him away and they’ll be done here.

Stiles scratches at his jaw and turns his words over in his mouth, but being blunt is probably the fastest solution here and also what he’s best at. The sentence comes out clipped, but it does escape his lips and into the dead air between him and the false-kind woman.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski. I’m his uh, kid. Son. Child.”

=

“How was the drive up?” Casey sounds awkward and unsure of himself in the face of his estranged son. 

He’s stood in beside his desk rather than sitting behind it. He wants to maintain distance, give Mieczysław the choice to approach him, but he doesn’t want to seem disconnected or disinterested. He’s only known about the boy for a couple months now, having been contacted by child services when Mieczysław’s previous caretaker died. His son is nineteen now, but still in high school and in need of a guardian for some ass backwards reason.

As it is, Mieczysław stands awkwardly in front of the door to his office, visibly tense and nervous. He’s not really what he was expecting, but he can still see the similarities between him and Claudia. He has her eyes, and the exact smattering of moles on his skin - at least from what he can see. His son - _his son_ \- stands before him, almost an adult. 

“It was okay. The uh, weather, got more rainy as I got closer.” Mieczysław’s voice is rough and cracky, like he doesn’t speak often. His fingers fidget constantly; grabbing at his sleeves, twisting the rings on his fingers, or rubbing at the tattoo trailing onto one hand. “I like it, it’s very… different… from Beacon Hills.” 

“Yeah! North California doesn’t really get the same weather patterns as Dellend.” _God_ , Casey despairs, _they’re talking about the weather_. “Anyway, I get off in an hour - you could wait here if you really want, but I have the spares for the house if you’d rather start unpacking.”

Mieczysław seems to turn it over in his mind, eyes flicking around the office as he considers the options. “I think I’ll get a head start on unpacking - it's the room on the second floor?” 

His speech smooths out the longer he speaks, and Casey can tell now that his voice is somewhat higher in pitch than is average but still deeper than a woman’s. He still seems nervous, but he’s stopped fidgeting with the exception of his tongue poking out and messing with a piercing there. Casey decides to hurry up with his last bit of work, so that he can get home sooner and spend more time learning about his son.

The Sheriff goes to his desk and digs in a drawer until he finds the spare key. When he turns back to his son, Mieczysław is messing with a picture frame on one of the bookshelves. Casey can tell from his desk that it’s a picture of him and his army troop. The boy looks at him sheepishly at being caught, and quickly places the frame back on its original perch. Casey can’t help the wry smile that spreads on his face at the other’s antics.

“Here,” he tosses the keys and watches as Mieczysław fumbles the catch and almost drops them, ”those’ll get you inside, and the extra is for your room.” The boy's eyes widen at that, brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s the second door to the left, upstairs. The first is a bathroom that’s yours too.”

“Thanks - it’s on Foggy Row? Uh--”

“827 Foghill Drive”

“--Yeah, thanks.”

Mieczysław stays there for a moment longer before he waves his hand awkwardly and quickly departs. 

=

The house on 827 Foghill Drive is in a bit of disrepair. Old and peeling blue-grey panelling, with a patchy roof and previously white windows that have yellowed with age. The front door is a dark grey with weakened hinges making the door sag down. When Stiles opens and closes the door, he has to lift it in order to relock it properly. There’s no smell to the house, it doesn’t smell like aftershave or men’s cologne. Mostly it gives of an empty presence, dusty and lonely. 

The foyer is small, with a worn rug and an end table with stacked bills and a key bowl perched precariously on top. Stiles elects to keep the keys on him, since one of the two is to his room. The foyer hall leads to the living room, a sofa and armchair circle the coffee table. Across the seats lay an entertainment center housing only a good sized tv and decently aged sound system. A turn of the head and Stiles can see over a counter bar and into the kitchen. It’s on the small side, but the fridge is newer and the oven seemingly unused. 

No pictures adorn the walls but there’s a taxidermied buck head on the far wall, the one the living room shares with the garage opposite the kitchen. The back wall spans a staircase leading upstairs, and further down is a hallway to the main bedroom, Stiles guesses. 

He only brought a suitcase of clothes and a box of miscellaneous items with him, so he leaves the box in the foyer to grab later and drags the suitcase up the stairs. There’s a smaller hall, two doors to the left like Casey had said. Still, he investigates and finds the first is a bathroom, generally unused and very dusty. The second door is locked, and Stiles has to drag out his keys to open it.

Inside there’s a full sized bed, plenty of space for Stiles to sprawl out but not feel swamped in mattress and blanket. There’s a single window adjacent to the bed, under which sits a desk and desk lamp. There's no closet but instead a dresser and wardrobe across from the bed. It’s a decently sized space, and with the dresser and wardrobe combo they’ll be an empty drawer that Stiles can use for his books until he gets a proper bookcase in the room.

Stiles lifts his suitcase onto the bed and gets to work.

=

When Casey gets home, Stiles has almost finished making dinner. It’s roughly 6 pm, and he’d only started about twenty minutes before. There weren’t many ingredients in the fridge or cabinets, but he managed to scrounge up enough for barebones spaghetti.

The house smells less like dust and more like a home cooked meal, the spices used in the italian dish filling the air with their fragrance. Stiles knows Casey is home now, but he focuses on straining the noodles rather than greeting him. He knows from experience that being distracted now will result in some pain. Unfortunately, that means when he does turn around he almost jumps out of his skin at Casey standing in the space between the kitchen and the living room, mouth agape and shock visible on his face.

Stiles lets out a very manly squeak and almost drops the noodles, but saves it last minute.

“Uh, hi, welcome home?” He doesn’t manage to sound confident, rather it comes out like a question. Stiles puts the noodles on the counter behind him and turns to face Casey again, hugging himself tightly before making himself appear relaxed.

“Hey - I don’t see any boxes so I assume you’ve already finished?”

“Yeah, I didn’t really pack much to begin with.”  
  
“Oh, well, glad it didn’t take long then, uh. You know how to cook?” Casey sounds incredulous at the idea. Stiles can see where he’s coming from, most nineteen year old’s don’t know how to cook food from scratch. Stiles learned early though, at the knee of his mother and later by the guiding hand of Julia.

“Um, cooking was always a family affair before - just before.” 

Stiles’s voice cracks midway, emotions still raw despite it being months since Julia’s death. The grief is a weird mix of the lingering sadness from his mom’s passing and the newly torn heartstrings from Julia’s. He takes a moment to breath and calm himself, desperate to not cry before Casey. As much as Stiles would like to see the man as his father, the Sheriff is still all but a stranger to him.

Casey winces at the minefield he’d unerringly stepped into, and quickly changes the subject to school. The semester begins on Wednesday, which is very weird to Stiles as it begins on Monday for Beacon Hills, and he’ll have to go in on Tuesday to see his locker and grab his schedule. Dellend High is smaller than his previous school, the population of the town being a much smaller 13,000 in comparison to Beacon’s 50,000. Everyone knows everyone here.

“Dellend High of course probably doesn’t have the course variety you’re used to,” Casey comments through a mouthful of food. Stiles only understands him due to experience with his friends in Beacon, they all eat like they’re starving. “It’s also the only high school in the area though, so while lots of the students are from in town, we have a couple kids from between cities that go here too."

Stiles nods, it’s not like he was expecting a lot anyway. Mostly he just wants to graduate with decent grades. He doesn’t care much for taking extra classes besides the normal curriculum. “That’s fine, I don’t need to take too many classes to graduate anyhow.” He shrugs as he says it.

Casey’s eyes narrow at the nonchalant attitude, maybe thinking along the lines of how many young criminals he’s heard treat school so callously. Stiles doesn’t bother to change the Sheriff’s impression of him. Either Casey will see that’s not the case, or Stiles won’t need to bother with the man after school ends.

The conversation thankfully ends when Casey gets a call from the station. Stiles can’t really hear what it’s about, but he thinks there was something about the woods surrounding the town. Unfortunately he doesn’t get the chance to investigate as his own phone pings with a text message. A quick look confirms it’s Scott making sure he made it to Dellend.

He turns his attention back to Casey, whose face is pinched with awkward guilt at having to leave so soon after getting home. Stiles waves him off, as talking to Scotty without the other man in the house will be much more relaxing. He won’t have to hide his meaning if he’s the only one around.

=

The drive to Dellend High School is a short one, the weather once again rainy and cold. Once Casey realized that Stiles didn’t have any appropriate clothes for how cold it was, he practically shoved an oversized jacket onto Stiles. He can tell it’s older, probably one that Casey no longer uses himself, if only because it’s one of those puff jackets that were popular when the Sheriff woulda been a kid. It might even be Grandpa Stilinski’s. 

Stiles wears it over one of his mom’s hoodies, which he stole after her death, zipped up all the way. His jeans are a nicer and newer pair than everything else, still in one piece compared to the rest of his jeans. To top the look off he has neon blue lip rings in. Stiles doesn’t really plan on making friends here, and is doing everything in his power to make the other teenagers avoid him.

He parks the Jeep in one of the few spots remaining, a little further from the school than he would prefer, but Casey had insisted on them eating breakfast together due to running out after dinner again the night before. Stiles hadn’t really gotten up early enough to do that and also be on time. He steps out onto the asphalt and focuses on digging his bag out of the backseat, yet he can still feel lingering gazes on his back. Being the new kid anywhere isn’t exactly his idea of fun, and in small towns, he’s guaranteed to be the freshest gossip for at least a month. 

He can remember when Kira had moved in their junior year, everyone at Beacon Hills High had wanted to get the inside scoop on the hot new girl. Stiles isn’t expecting the same treatment at all, his punk style is more likely to get him sneers and rude comments than excitement and compliments.

A school bell rings, probably the warning bell if the lack of urgency from his peers says anything. Still, he doesn't want to be late on his first day there, and quickly works on maneuvering around the crowds that mill about the parking lot to get inside. After that it's a scramble to find his locker, at which he realizes that he doesn’t have time to unlock and put anything in, so he just keeps his bag with him as he looks for his classroom. He barely makes it in time, but it’s apparently a homeroom class that’s not even thirty minutes long.

Even still, the teacher tries to get him to introduce himself, at which he lets the teacher do all the talking, and stares at her as she tries to get him to say something about himself. It probably makes him seem standoffish and rude but that just means the nicer kids will avoid him for his supposed attitude. 

It happens in all but two classes, those being English and History. Ms. Blake, the English teacher, simply welcomes him to Dellend and tells him to keep his phone off during her class. Mr. Hale, his World History teacher, doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. He tells Stiles to find a seat and nothing else.

The only issue is lunch, which he can’t just go off campus for. Not that there’s anywhere to go besides Casey’s house. Stiles grabs his food from the lines and promptly has nowhere to go. From the front of the cafeteria he can see perfectly where the social hierarchy falls, what cliques there are and how they interact. 

Holding court at the largest table in the room, Stiles can see what must be the King and Queen of Dellend High. He’s seen the redheaded and well dressed Lydia Martin in his classes, so the ditzy act she’s showing now must be a front for the benefit of the blue eyed boy she’s hanging off the arm of. Based on his looks and what he’s heard around the halls, the boy must be Jackson Whittemore, Captain of the football team and the only one with a chance of it going anywhere. 

They’re both impeccably dressed. Lydia is in designer threads, what may be the most expensive clothes Stiles has ever seen. Jackson’s clothes seem to be from money as well, though he doesn’t look to bother with the best of the best like Lydia does. They both look near regal where they sit, the ten or so people around them trying to get closer without making it seem obvious. From the look in Lydia’s eyes, Stiles figured they weren’t being subtle enough. 

There weren’t many other groupings, a gaggle of could-be math nerds, and the local stoners seemed bunched up near the doors as far from the lone teacher as they could get. Everyone else was in friend groups of five or six, the smallest being a group of four in matching leather jackets. 

The leader of the leather group was probably the shortest of them all, long black hair pulled into a tight ponytail and matching leather boots crawling up to her knees. Her eyes were a stormy green, and she only wore eyeliner and dark red lipstick. Her features made her a Hale, the largest family in the town. Besider her sat a tall and skeleton like boy with sky blue eyes and curly blonde hair. With the exception of his jacket, the boy’s clothes were ratty with age. Surprisingly, he had eyeliner on too which looked very good on him with his sharp cheekbones.

Across from them sat another girl, with blond hair and brown eyes. She had smokey eyes and bright red lips, and her jacket was a crop over a lace shirt. Her skirt was leather to match the jacket, and under which she had on dark tights and bright red heels. Overall her clothes seemed almost like she’d bought them the day before. She ate like a starved wolf as she draped herself over her neighbor. Said neighbor was large, most likely towering over the rest of them if they were to stand. His clothes were generic with the exception of the jacket, not terribly old but also not brand new. 

They all seemed to come from very different social backgrounds, on first glance, yet they’re close knit in their interactions and purposely exclude others from their table. It’s a little weird. But Stiles can see himself there, with Scotty and Kira and Liam and-

Stiles now has suspicions about how much of a vacation this semester will be.

=

Mieczysław prefers to be called Stiles, though he doesn’t say why. Casey takes the out, and stops trying to pronounce Mieczysław’s given name. His son, though that thought is still weird to Casey, seems to settle in over the weekend. He doesn’t really do much around the house. The boy cooks and cleans up after himself, but mostly is confined to his room the first couple days.

Casey thinks he can hear the occasional laughter or voice coming from the room, though he does his best to not eavesdrop. Gradually, the boy becomes more comfortable being out and about in the house, and Casey sometimes comes home to see Mieczsyław watching something on the tv, or writing in notebooks at the bar.On Tuesday, Casey comes home to find his son doing crafts in the living room, with the coffee table pushed aside for all of the materials Mieczysław’s using. What throws him off is that Casey swears half of the items are the same things he could find in Deaton’s office. Plants and stones the Vet definitely doesn’t use for animals. 

Casey doesn’t say anything, simply asks about the bracelet the boy is making with the items. Mieczysław is tense during the conversation, and keeps his answers vague and loose. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so Casey lets it drop and instead focuses on if the boy wants to cook dinner again or if he’d rather call in food.

Casey hopes that Mieczysław is only starting out with his interests, a charm bracelet is more mild after all. Casey will need to talk to Talia about his son’s interest in the occult, see if he can get him some careful guidance and keep him from going to the dark side of it all. 

If his son is into the magic thing, then maybe he’ll be open minded about werewolves. 

=

Stiles likes to spend time in the backyard of his father’s house. Nature brushes up brusquely with the space, undergrowth creeping into the grass, and tree branches hanging into the air. Many a time Stiles has awoken only to see a deer or vole at the edge of the trees through his bedroom window. The yard is refreshing, though the trees lack leaves, and the plants sleep in their hibernation, the hint of life on the horizon feels Stiles up with feelings of green and growth.

Stiles sits upon the steps of the back porch, ripped jeans exposing his knees to the chill in the air. The sky is foggy, as it seems to be the permanent state of the weather, and it had drizzled a little before the sun rose. He intends to work on his wards, never quite satisfied with them, when a rustle at the treeline catches his attention. A paw steps out of a bush, tawny fur and black claws. Bright blue eyes glow from within the darkness of the foliage. Stiles can’t hide the smile that spreads across his face at the sight of the coyote. 

The coyote tiptoes from the bush, burrs and twigs stuck in her coat. She swishes her tail and snaps her teeth at Stiles, fangs bared and hackles raised. Stiles simply cocks his head at her. The coyote makes one last sound, a harsh ruff, before the tension leaves her and she trots to Stiles. 

“Hello, Wiley.” Stiles’s tone is fond as he reaches for the coyote. She doesn’t hesitate to climb onto his legs, sticking her nose into his neck and rubbing her face against his. “What are you doing so far from home, huh?”

Wiley huffs at him, ignoring his words to instead scramble onto Stiles’s shoulders and lay around his neck. Stiles grunts at the sudden weight, but doesn’t stop or move the coyote. He continues to run his fingers through her fur as she continues to nuzzle her snout in his neck. 

“Are you gonna stay here then? I don’t think Oregon has coyotes, Wiley.” He feels teeth prick at his throat in retaliation, and supposes that answers that.

=

Talia Hale tries to be a good person despite her status as Alpha. She needs a strong grip on her pack, and be ruthless to the creatures who invade her territory. This does not mean she is unkind.

“We’re predators, that doesn’t mean we have to be killers.” She had told her only son once, in the midst of his sorrow and raging grief. 

Werewolves are _wolves,_ wolves in human skin with human thoughts, so death will always be a part of their world. As is the way things are in an existence with vampyres, rougarous, and worse things creeping in the dark.

They may help with the natural order, but they did not kill coldly, or needlessly.

Nothing makes her forget all this faster than politics. The hall is a light with music, chattering fills the air and the strained smiles of platitude grate at Talia’s good will. Her own smile is brittle in the gaze of the town Mayor. Robert Finstock is truly a trying individual, certifiably insane and yet the best Mayor the town has seen in a few generations. Perhaps it’s his crazy nature that makes him so good at the position?

Nevertheless, she persists onwards, polite words falling from her mouth on autopilot. Her attendance at this congregation was unfortunately necessary, appearances must be kept after all. While her brother might enjoy shirking his more human behavior, Talia knew that she could not afford to do the same if she wished for her pack to avoid suspicion. 

The only bright side to these functions was Casey Stilinski. The man hated these almost as much as she, though for very different reasons. Talia always felt the pressure of expressing herself as human here, unable to show her more wild nature, meanwhile Casey would much rather be at the Station solving the latest crime to grace their woods.

He was also very terrible at faking politeness. He couldn’t really lie for the life of him, at least, in inconsequential situations like this one. Despite this, he was fairly good at the politics of it all, he had to be, if he were to be Sheriff for any length of time. His presence was always like a fresh glass of water in the midst of the fake smiles and shrewd eyes. 

This fundraiser was different, in that the newest town member was there. Stiles Stilinski, evidently the Sheriff’s estranged son. He wasn’t who you would expect to be the child of the Sheriff, dressed in ratty jeans and a baggy hoodie over some obscure heavy metal band tee. The sleeves to the hoodie were pulled up haphazardly, occasionally falling down only to be pushed back up, revealing twirling tattoos of vines and shadow like tendrils surrounding ancient letters in greek and gaelic. His lip was pierced with two rings on the right, and a scar rested on the other side. 

The boy’s image was bright and loud, drawing the wrong kind of attention to himself. Talia could tell that many in the room thought the boy a delinquent. 

Stiles stood behind his father, curled in on himself with hunched back and tense shoulders. He loomed over the man in height, yet somehow managed to appear small. Something about him made Talia want to look away and ignore his presence. She narrowed her eyes at him, noting him fiddle with the long bracelet on his wrist. She couldn’t risk flashing her wolf eyes to get a better look at it, so she settled with talking to Alan about it later.

As it was, she put aside her thoughts and suspicions to approach her friend and his son.

Casey was charming as always, and by that she meant blunt and refreshing in his lack of a front. His son stayed quiet and avoided her gaze throughout the greetings and introductions, simply nodding at Talia once they were over. The closer look allowed her to gauge his age, perhaps 18, and she wondered at why he was there. Most likely Casey was pressured to bring his new charge. 

She and Casey spoke idly about the going ons of the town, before they found themselves speaking of the latest unfortunate deaths to be found in the forest.

“Any luck on finding out what happened to those poor hikers?” She kept her tone light, trying for casual in front of the boy. She’d no way of knowing what Stiles knew of the supernatural, and if he knew nothing she’d like to keep it that way until Casey could decide if he should be told.

“Probably a mountain lion based on the claws, they looked pretty gnawed on, so they may have been there a while.” Casey didn’t bother to censor his words, upfront and factual about the people's fate. Casey’s face was pinched with frustration, no doubt disliking the lack of evidence found on the hikers bodies. Stiles, however, seemed to perk up at the mention of the bodies, exposing great interest in the conversation.

“Those cougars are getting braver, perhaps they can’t find food further in the woods?” Talia hates discussing these matters in public, honestly. She has to be coded and careful in what she says so that eavesdroppers don’t hear something they shouldn’t. She watches the Sheriff’s boy become more intrigued and appreciates the need, even if she hates facades and subterfuge.

As the conversation moves on, Stiles seems to lose interest and instead turns his attention back to his surroundings. He never speaks a word the entire time she’s there, and she suspects that the boy hadn’t spoken a word before or after. Rather, he fidgets his hands and fingers, fusses with his clothes, and fiddles with his piercings. Though he never talks the boy is a susurrus of sounds, never quiet but never loud.

A strange boy indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it so far, I'm working on chapter two right now!
> 
> If you have any questions or just wanna yell at my face, hmu on tumblr [@newtsnogitsune](https://newtsnogitsune.tumblr.com/)


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